The Social Stripper

We are worms, crawling back into the womb of our brain,
We are cracked china, broken ducklings,
That left the lake to bathe in the rain.

Together we hopped off the track,
Together, these wind-up dolls, cased in tinned brass,
Lept across the barrier and paraded into the wilderness.

Now we wrestle in the mud,
And all our faces have been smudged.
This inky land, where the sunken dead dwell,
Lets us trace back our lineage in the quivers of the quicksand.

These leaves now murmur their prehistoric shrieks
In midnight relish to the moon.
And the smiles in the windows look like candyfloss,
As our eyes swallow this monsoon.

*

A kaleidoscope of colours, a creative chaos, a come together
of kindred, a demonic indulgence, a circus in motion,
coursing through the commotion of Time.
A force like fire,
Crackling in the sublime.
A ring of smoke, a crowd of ash,
An applause of holy desire,
A cigarette dedicated to a city and to all it aspires.

*

What sunken streets,
With coral traffic and citizens of reptile,
Carrying themselves in this preconceived state,
In this embryo of empty dreams.
What scientific sterility,
The human hunger tamed and nursed,
Until it is but a rehearsal of reversal.

What technology of faces, holy monuments,
What theatre of identity, imitation of expression,
What scrolls and books, hieroglyphs of thought,
The effort to conjugate the collective mind.


*

But this is wonderful, because in this polished room
we caress and cuddle the centre of the whole design.
What splatters of rain now drop, and burst into gold,
And what of the ember in the eye,
curious to reach into the mould of the night,
desperate to peal off the shell of your vision,
and the let the yoke of your fancy drip,
to melt together the nectar of your strife,
to taste the fruit off the banquet of life.

This is all.
And once you are stripped, you are silent.
Silence now, is your sole society.